Holier Than Thou
by MizSphinx
Summary: Six years after the War, Hermione's now a bible-thumping Catholic nun bent on saving souls from damnation. Given this opportunity, she tries to change Lucius Malfoy's evil ways but soon realises that Lucius Malfoy will not change unless he wants to do so.
1. Love Your Enemies

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

Disclaimer #2: This story is not meant to indoctrinate anyone into Christianity or any religious sect. It is merely a fictional, hopefully humourous, piece using religion as a premise to carry the story. Also, there is no intention to offend or mock Christianity or anyone of Christian beliefs.

_Chapter One: Love Your Enemies_

"Minister, can I have a word?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, cringed imperceptibly at the sound of the voice behind him. He'd just finished up from a two-hour board meeting concerning a matter he'd long forgotten the topic of and was in dire need of an awakener. However, he realised this was not to be at the sound of Hermione Granger's voice. Correction: _Sister _Hermione Granger's voice.

He turned, a smile already forced into place on his face, and said as congenially as he could, "Hullo…err…Sister Hermione. How are you?"

Sister Hermione Jane Granger, formerly plain old Hermione Granger, had changed considerably in the past six years after the war. After Voldemort's final failed attempt of murdering Harry Potter and the 'Light Side' had officially won the war, many changes had occurred both individually and societal. Several wealthy Pureblood families had found themselves not so wealthy anymore and behind bars. Goblins, elves, centaurs and the other magical, non-wizard sects had been given the same rights and freedoms as wizards. And the general air of inevitable doom and darkness had lifted and breathed new life and vigor into the Wizarding community.

Harry Potter had married. _Draco Malfoy _was engaged to be married. Ron Weasley was in a serious relationship. Severus Snape had taken a long needed vacation to Barbados. Ginny Weasley had acquired a temporary position as a Quidditch professor at Hogwarts. George Weasley had 'come out' and announced that he was homosexual. Bill and Fleur were separated. Molly and Arthur were older but still married and meddlesome as ever, Molly more so than Arthur. And Fred…Fred had gone on a mysterious journey three years ago and had yet to be seen or heard from since.

But Hermione had had the greatest and most surprising transformation of all. No-one had seen it coming. Just one fine and sunny day, after returning from her four year post-Hogwarts education, she'd proclaimed to the Weasley household and company that she was going to become a nun.

At first, only quizzical expressions could be found on their faces—save for Harry who knew what a nun was—but after a brief explanation from Hermione, they'd gotten the gist of things and had not liked the idea. In fact, they'd discouraged her outright, Ron being the most vocal of the lot.

"'Mione, that's awful! No _sex_?"

"No, Ron," replied Hermione demurely, a blush colouring her cheeks. "I've been reborn again. I am now God's wife and I must devote both my body and my soul to the Church and His work."

Aghast, Ginny responded, "His work? What kind of work?"

"Encouraging others to follow His word by reading His Holy Book and practicing good deeds in their daily lives. To inspire faith of Jesus Christ in the hearts of men, be it wizard, Muggle or magical creatures."

Arthur piped up, "And who's this Jesus Christ fellow?"

"He is God's one and only begotten son," replied Hermione solemnly.

"He's already got a kid?" cried Ron, "'Mione are you sure you're ready to be a step-mum?"

"Jesus Christ is already dead. He suffered for our sins…"

Molly shook her head and said in grave tones, "Oh dear…must be hard to outlive your own child…and the poor dear suffered too…oh my…was it He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's fault?"

Eventually, with the help of Harry, Hermione had managed to convey the salient points of her newfound faith to the Weasleys and even though they were still displeased, they'd respected her decision.

Now twenty-three years old, Hermione had managed to become the youngest Abbess known to the Catholic Church and possibly the Wizarding world. She'd completed her Postulancy and had undertaken her Novitiate in a record time of two years and five months. She'd already taken her Temporary Vows and was currently considering whether or not she should take her Solemn Vows.

In the two years since Hermione had assumed office, she'd accomplished two major feats: the first of which was twisting Madame Rosmerta's arm into relinquishing her establishment so she (Hermione) could build her church there and, secondly, badgering Headmistress McGonagall into abolishing Professor Trelawney's Divination class and replacing it with 'Divinity': a class which the students were outsourced to Hermione's church and would learn about Christianity.

And during those same years, Hermione had also made several attempts of harassing the Ministry to concede to her many different requests. Some they'd outright rejected and some they'd relented to because she was a celebrated War heroine and also there was only so much of "You shall face damnation if you inhibit God's will!" Howlers they could take.

Therefore, one could now understand Kingsley Shacklebolt's reaction. He knew what was coming, he knew he would not like it and he certainly knew he was not going to avoid it due to Hermione's set and determined face.

"I am well, Minister," she replied primly, "And you?"

"I'm a bit under the weather…" said Kingsley in hopeful tones that she'd get the gist and go away.

She suddenly affected a worried look, "Are you unwell, Minister. Shall I say a prayer?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt was acquainted with Hermione's prayers and their time limit of extending long beyond even his board meetings. He hastened to stay her hands as she'd already begun reaching for her Rosary beads. "No need to, Sister. What is it that you need to speak to me about?"

She pursed her lips, looking about the hallway disdainfully at its expensive soundproof carpeting and non-Christian motivational plaques dotting the walls. "I think I'd prefer we speak in your office, Minister."

He nodded once and set off, aware that she was right on his heels. Entering the first section of the room, he found his receptionist, Parvati Patil, applying nail polish to her fingernails the Muggle way. He gave her a little wave in greeting and watched in slight surprise as she hurriedly whispered "Evanesco", tapping her wand to her nails. He was aware of Parvati's beautification tendencies during office hours and knew Parvati was aware that he did not mind but realisation dawned when he heard Hermione's signature throat clearing: a harbinger of a speech on Christian values, the demoralisation of the Wizarding world and the degeneration of the Wizarding folk into base pleasures.

"Sister, my office," he prompted, she looked up and away from Parvati, moving to where he stood with the door held ajar for her entry. As Hermione entered his office, he glanced at Parvati just in time to see her mouth "Thank you" gratefully.

"Minister, I have a proposition to make," she began immediately after he'd taken his seat.

"Sister, you have made many propositions to the Ministry," he pointed out.

"Indeed," she replied waspishly. "And of the many, only few have found favourable responses but maybe that was God's will."

He chose to ignore her and asked instead, "And this new proposition of yours?"

She cleared her throat and Kingsley Shacklebolt felt his whole body tense with trepidation. Was she about to launch into a sermon?

"Minister, as I was reading the Daily Prophet yesterday, loathe as I am to read such filthy garbage, I encountered an article that was very disturbing. It seems that all those former Death Eaters and persons found associated with them, Voldemort or their evil deeds are to be executed within the next year. Is this true?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt had known he would not like this meeting but he hadn't realised how much he'd wish for a time-turner so he would not have encountered Sister Hermione Granger on this eventful day. "It is true," he answered slowly, quietly.

Her eyes widened, "But that is heinous! It would be mass murder!"

Astonished, he answered, "Sister, remember who you are speaking about. They did evil things to both Wizards and Muggles. They tortured and took innocent lives."

"'Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you!'" quoted Hermione. "Minister, I cannot abide the knowledge, the idea, the very _action_ of murder regardless of their past transgressions. That is why I have a proposition I hope you will accept."

Kingsley Shacklebolt realised that Sister Hermione Granger had gone past the path of reasoning and she'd not acknowledge another thing he'd say without a fight to the death. So, wearily, he asked again, "What is your proposition, Sister?"

"I wish for you to release those unsaved souls from Azkaban and allow me to tutor and guide them onto the rightful path of Christianity."

* * *

AN: Hello everybody, here's a new fanfic for you to feast on! I do hope you liked the first installment. If you did or if you didn't, please tell me what you think! :)


	2. Of Whom Shall I Be Afraid?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

_Chapter Two: Of Whom Shall I Be Afraid?_

_Eight Weeks Later_

Lucius was lounging on his bed, listening to the wireless he'd bought with the royalties from his art sale. He'd just come from the showers after his one hour exercise routine and had thought it the perfect cap to his evening by listening to some soothing classical music. He turned the dial to Rowena Flaghorn's 'Soothing Sonatas' program then settled himself on his lumpy, uncomfortable cot of six years with a semi-contented sigh as the mellow sound of a piano filled his cell.

In that moment, Lucius _almost_ said to himself that life was perfect.

But this was not so. Lucius Malfoy could not consider his present circumstance a perfect one. He'd been jailed for six years, despite his plea bargains, underhanded monetary contributions and blatant selling out of his ex-comrades, and he was due for a beheading in less than a year. He was stuck in a cold, colourless cell, had had to endure forced bi-weekly body inspections, sharing of the showers with other men and atrocious, sometimes inedible daily meals. Indeed, he'd come to adapt but it was a far, far cry from the comfort of his manor. No, this was not a perfect life at all.

The low, melodic notes of the piano carried him back in time and he began to reminisce on a past when life was ideal. His mind's eye went back, way back before he'd fallen into the clutches of the Dark Lord, when he was young and newly married to Narcissa. He vividly remembered the little snippets of moments of importance and happiness in their marriage: the first time they'd made love; the day they'd inherited the manor; the morning Narcissa had emptied her stomach of her recently eaten breakfast and had done a self examination on herself and found out she was pregnant; the day Draco had been born…

Draco.

A pang of regret went through Lucius at the thought of his estranged son. In the years since his imprisonment, his son had visited him not once. A few days before Lucius' trial, Draco had come to Lucius and with cold finality had said he had disowned him and would have nothing to do with him again.

Lucius had understood the boy's anger and resentment, had seen it a long time coming, but that did not stop him from feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut. Placation had been futile and Lucius had not dared bribe his son with the remains of his wealth, a ploy that had always worked when Draco was being unreasonable. He had only hoped that time would heal Draco's wounds and the boy would come to forgive and forget.

Either enough time had not passed or Draco had gone past forgiving his father, whatever the cause, Lucius had yet to see his son's face ever since that fateful day.

"'Ey Malfoy!" hollered someone from the opposite cell. "Turn that thing down will ya."

"I doubt it's that loud, Lestrange," replied Lucius coolly.

"No, but it's bloody depressing," retorted Lestrange. "Last time I checked, the Dementors had been banned."

Lucius shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the vile hooded creatures. He, along with the prisoners of the war had been under the control and torture of the Dementors for four years before they'd been abolished from Azkaban. Those years had been some of his most terrible, where his heart, mind and soul had been filled constantly with thoughts of despair, regret and death. There had been moments when he'd temporarily lost his sanity, despite his fight to keep sane and moments when he'd gone as far as considering suicide.

What a relief it was when two years ago, Ministry officials had suddenly marched inside Azkaban and began ordering the Dementors away. In replacement, Aurors had taken over the position of prison guards, stationing themselves about the grounds and within the castle walls. Measures for the prisoners' care and well-being had suddenly been put in place: three meals per day instead of one, daily exercise routines, allowance to showers everyday instead of once per week. Productivity was also encouraged where the prisoners could create or perform different things and be paid for it. A little shop of trinkets and snacks had opened up on the premises and the prisoners bought whatever they wanted with the funds from their work.

Lucius and many others had openly scoffed at the new additions and measures. After all, a great percentage had come from wealth and the puny repayment they gained from their ventures was shameful to their eyes and pride. Eventually, they'd come around to the fact that regardless of the new—albeit mediocre and distasteful—attributes, life was still a lot better in Azkaban than it used to be.

That isn't to say he hadn't wondered why. Why the regime of Azkaban had undergone such a sudden and rapid change. Why they, former Dark Lord supporters, were being treated well and with respect. Why they, even though their deaths were imminent, were offered a chance to live semi-comfortably.

Bothered with these questions, he'd pursued one of the Aurors and had managed to persuade him to answer them. Lucius had found out that it was the doing of Sister Hermione Granger.

More than surprised at the time, Lucius had followed up with, "Sister Hermione Granger? Has she become a nun?"

"Yah, that's what they're calling her," replied the Auror.

Lucius had tried to question the Auror more but the man had gone tight-lipped. He had relented, deciding to himself that he'd inquire more on the matter when he got the chance.

The piano notes petered off slowly to an end as Lucius' eyes grew heavy. In a matter of seconds, Lucius Malfoy was fast asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Lucius awoke to the sound of loud, excited chatter. He sat up, working out the kinks in his shoulders formed from the uncomfortably flat, lumpy mattress he slept on. Standing, he walked up to his cell's entrance and saw Lestrange deep in conversation with Yaxley, Lestrange's cellmate.

"…and maybe we can reunite the brotherhood." Lestrange was saying.

Curious, Lucius interjected with, "What are you two on about?"

Rodolphus Lestrange looked up, "Lucius!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet and coming to his own cell's entrance gate. "We have heard good news!"

"Indeed, it is wondrous news!" cried Rabastan Lestrange from the cell beside Lestrange's. "We are about to be set free!"

Scoffing, Lucius replied, "Impossible. Where have you heard such tripe?"

"It is in the newspaper," explained a smiling Rodolphus. "The Daily Prophet."

At the name of the newspaper, Lucius was further convinced that this 'good news' was completely ridiculous and fabricated to boot. The Daily Prophet was infamous for its unconventional methods of garnering news and its habit to print fictitious, libelous and grossly exaggerated news articles and he told the excited Lestrange brothers just that. The Wizarding community had made a monumental mistake once by disbelieving Voldemort's Second Rising thereby suffering great casualties. They weren't about to make yet another blunder by releasing the ones that had facilitated the previous oversight in the first place.

"But it is true!" Rodolphus protested. "Look here," he produced the paper, wrinkled beyond recognition. "There is even a spoken piece from that mudblood bitch confirming it."

"Hand it to me," said Lucius and Rodolphus flung the paper through his cell's steel slots in Lucius' direction. One of the Aurors that stood guard every twelve hours glared at Rodolphus but said nothing. Lucius bent and retrieved the paper, eyeing the front page with one lifted eyebrow. In enlarged, block letters read the caption: DEATH EATERS SET TO BE FREE!

The following article read:

_By Lee Jordan, the Daily Prophet_

_December 14th, 2004,_

_The Wizarding community is in an uproar over the recent notification made by the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, at the Ministry of Magic's annual review. During the press conference held on December 13th, 2004, Kingsley Shacklebolt announced to the public that the Ministry would be handing over the rehabilitation and supervision of the imprisoned Death Eaters to the Church of Saint Mary. _

"_The Ministry has been offered a considerably more humane way to conduct the punishment of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's ex-supporters," said the Minister. "They will not be executed this coming summer. Instead, as of Monday next week, they will begin their two-year rehabilitative period of penitence and community service whilst residing at the Church of Saint Mary."_

_Questioned further on the safeness of releasing the Death Eaters to the care of a church, the Minister stated calmly, seemingly unperturbed by the various cries of outrage, "The Ministry will take measures to ensure the security of the Wizarding community and also the prisoners themselves. Not only that, they will also be under the watchful eye of the Abbess of the church."_

_The Abbess, Sister Hermione Granger, is a decorated war heroine and a Junior Potions Mistress who practices Christianity. It was rumoured that she was the mastermind behind the Ministry's sudden decision change. When asked to confirm whether this was true or not, she did not hesitate to say, "Indeed, it was I, under the divine will of God, who made this suggestion to the Ministry. I do not believe in punishment by murder. I have faith that under my tutelage and God's wonderful grace that these poor souls would come to see the error of their ways and repent of their sins."_

_Additional information could not be gleaned from the Minister. Further inquiries on the matter were met with terse replies from the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Percy Weasley…_

Lucius didn't bother to read on. He was not interested in the short background history of Percy Weasley's political climb to Senior Undersecretary. He perused the rest of the paper but learned nothing more. Folding the paper, he threw it into the rubbish bin then thought to himself how fitting for the paper's final destination. After all it _was_ rubbish.

* * *

Hermione was sipping at her second cup of tea when Lillian, her second-in-command at the church, came running in, her fingers twisting themselves together in anxiety.

"Sister, we've ran out of bed sheets," she said in worried tones.

"The good Lord shall provide," replied Hermione calmly.

"Will He? That's good," she said, sighing in relief. "It's a good thing you talk to Him as much as you do, Sister. I daresay if you didn't, He may not have been so generous. So when will He be around with the sheets then?"

Hermione felt a bubble of exasperation rise within her but her year of Postulancy had taught her divine serenity. Sometimes, Hermione felt as though Lillian Ainsley had been sent to test her resolve and threaten her ability to keep her temper in check. A young girl of sixteen, Hermione had found Lillian homeless and living on the streets. She'd taken her in six months ago and had yet to regain her perfect equilibrium since.

It wasn't as though Lillian purposely did the things she did. Hermione had realised that the girl was just predisposed to forgetfulness, clumsiness, loudness and lewdness. She was also swift to become anxious should any of her aforementioned traits anger Hermione enough for Hermione to contemplate returning her to the streets.

That was why Hermione rarely let on to Lillian that she was upset or annoyed. Even though Lillian sent her to her knees in prayer more often these days, she enjoyed the girl's company and knew she was good at heart.

She exhaled slowly then spoke as if speaking to a toddler, "Lillian, remember what I told you yesterday about God?"

"Oh right, right," Lillian nodded. "He lives in the sky. Though I can't see how that's possible because—"

"Lillian!" Hermione snapped then in a softer voice, "Lillian. He does not literally _live _in the sky, He lives within _us_."

"Does it matter where He lives?" asked Lillian in a bored voice. "All that matters is you chatting him up enough to get what we want and what we want now are bed sheets, Sister."

Hermione grabbed at her rosary beads, a Hail Mary whispering in her mind as she shooed Lillian away with an order to take the money from the church's vault to go and purchase the required bed sheets. She finished her cup of tea with a long swallow, washed her used cup then made her way to her potions lab to get to work.

An hour later, she was jerked from her deep concentration of slicing gingerroots by the call of a voice from her office. She placed a stasis spell on her bubbling potion and went to see who it was. There she found an unsmiling Percy Weasley and his supposed assistant, standing near her fireplace, brushing away soot from their clothing.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Percy began but was interrupted by Hermione's swift response of "It's Sister." He continued on, ignoring her comment, "My assistant, Claire Weatherby, and I are here for an inspection of your grounds before the admittance of your new charges."

"I thought you weren't due until after lunch?" replied Hermione.

"Indeed but time constraints and more important matters have forced me to perform earlier than expected. I hope we have not inconvenienced you."

"No, that's quite alright," she said. _Yes, you have, you stuck up prick!_ She thought then angrily rebuked her thoughts while simultaneously issuing a silent prayer of forgiveness.

"Good," he nodded. "Shall we begin?"

The inspection took just over an hour to complete due to Percy's pernickety nature to even check places like the food cupboards. How Death Eaters could utilise a food cupboard for evil was beyond Hermione. What were they going to do? Avada Kedavra her with a loaf of bread? Still, she held her tongue even during Percy's supercilious looks and scathing remarks about the wisdom of harbouring criminals in her place of residence.

"They will be here within the next hour," Percy said as he and his assistant were preparing to leave. "As agreed upon, their magic has been modified to only perform harmless spells and a sensor has been injected into their inner left forearm to prevent them from causing you physical harm. This sensor would need bi-monthly inspections to ensure its efficacy. It is also advised that you administer daily doses of Veritaserum. As it is a controlled substance, please sign this agreement for the Ministry's approval of use of Veritaserum. Once signed, we will begin to despatch the daily required amounts."

"I can brew Veritaserum myself," said Hermione even as she signed the papers that Claire Weatherby held against her clipboard.

"Well, do have a good day, Miss Granger," said Percy as he grabbed up a handful of her Floo powder and flung it into the fireplace. "Do remember that if the burden is too great to bear, the Ministry has no qualms of returning those criminals to the fate they deserve." And with a shout of "The Undersecretary's office," he and his assistant were gone.

* * *

"Sister, they're here!" Lillian cried out gleefully as she flung Hermione's office door open with a loud bang.

"Lillian, must you be so loud?" Hermione said irritably as she rose from her seat. She closed her office door and made her way to the entrance with Lillian bouncing behind her. Once outside, she was met by the sight of two disgruntled looking Aurors getting off the Day Bus—a slightly improved version of the Knight Bus but owned by Stan Shunpike.

Under the directions of the Aurors, eight figures exited the bus and began making their way to the church's entrance. Hermione stood there, trepidation oozing slowly along her veins and regret blooming like a flower in her heart. What had she done? What was she going to do? How was she going to handle these people, these villains that were the source of her nightmares?

She did what she was very good at: ignoring the doubts in her heart and affixed a smile on her face for the approaching Aurors. _Lord give me strength…_

"Hello, Terry," she greeted as he was at the forefront of the group.

"Hullo, Sister," said Terry Boot, sounding relieved. "We've brought 'em."

She turned and surveyed them, unnerved at how they all stood eerily silent, their eyes glittering malevolently. She thanked God for the Ministry's idea to place physical harm sensors in their bodies for she didn't doubt what they all wanted to do to her. Slowly, she identified each one of them: Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus Lestrange, Yaxley, Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange…Hermione involuntarily stepped backwards.

Bellatrix gave a wild cackle, "Mudblood bitch! Are you scared?" She cackled again and Hermione had to force herself not to turn and run away. Bellatrix Lestrange was the star of Hermione's nightmares, cackling madly just as she did now whilst torturing her with spell after unforgivable spell. And there in Hermione's nightmare, Bellatrix's co-star, Lucius Malfoy would be. Standing there and smiling…smiling while she died…

"Sister, are you alright?" Lillian's worried voice entered her mind, returning her to the present, to reality. She opened her eyes, having not realised she'd closed them, and her gaze collided with the intense, unblinking one of her eighth charge, Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

AN: And that's the end of Chapter Two. Did you enjoy it? You didn't? Tell me what you think!

And to all that reviewed, thank you very much for taking the time out to do so. They were appreciated as always. :)


	3. You Will Be Cursed

AN: I shall be changing this story's genre from Romance/Humour to Romance/Drama. Nevertheless, I will still attempt to incorporate the funny. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

_Chapter Three: You Will Be Cursed_

Hermione's heartbeat raced with terror and it took great strength to prevent her inner emotions from presenting themselves outwardly. At that moment she really wanted to turn tail and flee but Lucius Malfoy's steady gaze held her bound and rooted where she stood. She was even afraid to blink but when his features turned into a sneer, she was grateful because it awarded her the release to look elsewhere.

She turned away from the prisoners to address both Terry Boot and Michael Corner, mentally shaking off the memory of Lucius Malfoy's steady, unsettling gaze. Even though regret and disappointment lay in the back of her mind, she still instructed the Aurors where to carry them. She issued silent prayers for peace of mind but none was forthcoming. Instead, anxiety and fear claimed her for their own and she knew it would be a long time before she was relinquished from their grasp.

Lillian was chattering away in excitement and it annoyed Hermione. Here she was, terrified out of her wits at the prospect of sharing her home with murderers and yet, the girl was going on as though the event was the best thing since the invention of bread. Wasn't she aware of the situation? Didn't she know who these men—and woman—really were? Hermione realised she'd have to give Lillian a stern talking to.

She led the group within the building, guiding them past the immediate church pews and up the flight of stairs on the right hand side of the room to the second floor. It had taken considerable amount of time and energy to manufacture seven additional rooms magically but with the Ministry's help, it had been accomplished. Each room was warded against breakouts, especially when curfew had arrived. Once inside, Hermione had the ability to see what they were doing on a piece of parchment, much like the Marauder's Map.

Arriving on the landing within a small hallway, Hermione turned to find all eyes on her and she cleared her throat nervously. Terry Boot and Michael Corner's eyes widened slightly as they were also familiar with the meaning behind Hermione's ominous throat clearing. They relaxed when she simply gestured to the seven doors: three on the left wall, three on the right and one at the very end of the hallway.

"These will be your rooms," she began. "None of them has any designated owners so you are free to choose whichever you wish."

"But there are eight of us and only seven doors, you stupid wench," responded Yaxley snidely and Terry glared at the man but said nothing.

A slow blush crept along Hermione's cheeks and she nearly dipped her head demurely when she reminded herself of her position. She was head here and reticence just would not do, especially amongst the pack of wolves she'd been given charge of. Deathly afraid of them she may be but to advertise any weakness would be her downfall. So she stiffened her back and lifted her chin to glare at Yaxley as well.

"From here on, you will desist from calling me anything other than _Sister Hermione_," she said coldly. "You may not respect me as a person as you ought to but you will respect my authority here."

"I only respect one authority, Mudblood," spat Yaxley, "and it certainly isn't you."

Bellatrix, on cue, let loose her annoying cackle.

She smiled, genuinely and sweetly too. "Oh? Well if that is the case then I have no inhibitions about releasing you back to the Ministry where, by tomorrow, they'll sever your useless head from your even more useless body to reunite you with the one authority you respect. So, should you feel disinclined to obey me, Mr. Yaxley, you are more than free to leave. Do you wish to?"

Yaxley stared at her, his eyes glittering with unrestrained hate but he said nothing.

"I thought so," she nodded then turned to address the group at large. "There are only seven rooms because as the Lestrange's are still married, they only have need of one room."

Bellatrix scowled, "You impudent bitch! Who told you I would like to share a room with _him_?"

Rodolphus glared at his wife, "I'm not too keen on this idea either, Bella. You snore."

For once, Hermione had the chance to witness Bellatrix's hate directed at someone else. Mrs. Lestrange turned on her husband and the both of them got into a heated row. Intimate details about their marriage were suddenly aired before the group and Hermione confessed herself surprised at how normal they seemed as a couple. However, Hermione mused, their animosity towards one another was far too great and even though they were henchmen for evil and Hermione was terrified of Bellatrix, she thought of a plan to help them. After all, this was her initial duty, to save their souls from hate and evil.

Before they'd manage to get too far into their argument, Terry idly placed a full body-bind curse on the two for he was aware that reasoning was beyond them. With another flick of his wand, he levitated their bodies and carried them off to the room at the end of the hall.

"So what about us?" piped up Alecto Carrow, her gaze devious. "Can my brother and I share a room?"

"Absolutely not," Hermione replied instantaneously.

"It is a shame, then, that my wife left me so prematurely," spoke Lucius Malfoy. "We may have had the same _wonderful_ privileges as the Lestrange's." Rabastan Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov barked with laughter, Alecto and Amycus Carrow giggled and Yaxley just went on scowling at Hermione.

When Terry had reemerged from the room, Hermione told the group to choose their rooms. After doing so, she informed them of the times for meals and when was their curfew. She had a brief word with Michael and Terry concerning security measures then, with Lillian skipping behind her, she returned to her office to redesign her plans.

_This is going to be harder than I thought. _

* * *

Lucius stood gazing about the room that would be his for the next two years should he be on his best behaviour. It was the barest room he'd ever encountered with a small, plain bed that would only allow him one turn before he fell over onto the floor. There was a bedside table on the right side of the bed, a candled lamp stood unlit upon it. A little desk and chair graced the same wall on which the door was hinged, a wall clock hooked just above the desk; and an atrocious yellow-green, cushioned chair sat near the only pair of single-hung windows in the room.

He scowled at the poly-cotton curtains that accompanied the windows. The curtains were printed with brown-green autumn leaves and the colouring and material had deteriorated with age, leaving it faded and holey. Striding over to the windows, he batted away the curtains and attempted to heave the first window up then the second but found neither would open. Of course, he thought, the Ministry can't have those pesky Death Eaters escaping and creating havoc all over again, can they?

He sat in the cushioned chair and crossed his right leg over his knee, striking a contemplative pose. His thumbs itched to be twiddled; he was already very bored, maybe more so than when he was at Azkaban. At least, by now, he'd have had his gymnasium break—a Muggle prison feature he'd abhorred from the get-go but had come to enjoy with each passing day—then his shower would have ensued and after that, he'd have settled down to his painting. However, he'd been forced to leave his meagre belongings behind to be delivered at a later date. Lucius did not know when.

What he did know, though, was that life had given him a second chance. Despite his unsatisfactory lodging and the unsavoury company he'd be forced to keep, he had been given the ability to make amends wherever they were due, especially concerning Draco. Lucius was a prideful man but he wasn't blind or stubborn in his ways. He was more than aware of the consequences of his past actions and had come to regret the decisions he'd made. He wanted to let his one and only son, soon to be married, to know this and he realised that the Fates had paved the way: through that Mudblood, Hermione Granger.

No, _Sister_ Hermione Granger, he corrected himself in sardonic tones.

Merlin, what a change! And such an outrageous one to boot. A nun. The great irony of the situation failed to escape him. She with the dirtiest of blood and a disgraceful lineage had adopted a lifestyle that required purity and grace. Apparently she'd come to terms with what she was and had tried to fix things. However, there could just never be any salvaging of bad blood. There was only one cure and it was death.

Lucius sighed. Even though he'd come to regret his alliance with Voldemort, the continued existence of creatures like Hermione Granger greatly reminded him of why he'd taken up The Cause. Indeed, he resented her kind and the threat she posed to the Wizarding world. Even now, more and more of the Muggle habits and behaviour were being incorporated into Wizarding daily life. He could vividly remember a time when the very idea of joining forces with Muggles would've been preposterous. However, despite his distaste, he needed to school himself in pretense. This was his chance, after all. The moment she or the Ministry got wind that he was unrepentant, he'd immediately suffer the same fate she'd described to Yaxley.

And Lucius could not have that.

Sometime later, after dozing off in the chair, Lucius heard the sound of a bell ringing outside his door. He lifted his head from the back of the chair in time to see his bedroom door swing open, revealing Hermione Granger in the entranceway.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," she said, stepping just inside the room. "It is suppertime. Are you hungry?"

Lucius' gaze flickered to the clock and noted that it was seven thirty. He'd fallen asleep for three hours. Then his gaze returned to meet hers. He remained silent.

She gave him an uncomfortable look. "Mr. Malfoy, I asked if you were—"

"I heard you perfectly the first time, Miss Granger," he interrupted her in cool tones. "Yes, I find myself peckish."

She nodded. "Well then, would you follow me down to the dining hall?"

"Are we not to have our meals within our rooms?"

"No," she replied curtly. "This isn't a hotel. Staff is limited."

Ignoring her question, he stood, waiting on her to turn and lead the way. Moments passed where she simply stared at him and growing tired, he gave her a very pointed look.

"I'd rather you leave first," she said stiffly.

Barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes, he made his way through the door. Her slight cringing away from his presence did not escape him and he smiled to himself. This was good. Her fear pleased him. Regardless of the various Ministry impediments, he still was not a man to be trifled with and the sooner _Sister_ Hermione Granger acknowledged this fact, the better it would be for her in the long run.

* * *

Supper was a tense and volatile affair. Baleful gazes were directed her way the entire evening even as the owners stuffed their faces with her mashed potatoes, cooked fish and boiled vegetables. Her first bit of religious education—an evening prayer thanking the Lord for His blessings of food—had been met with strong resistance. After being called a 'dirty Mudblood bitch' for the umpteenth time, she'd relented on her demands. So what if they didn't say grace? The less time spent in their company, the better anyway.

The highlight of her evening had come at the end of their meal and at the expense of one of the prisoners. Yaxley, obviously still peeved with her from earlier, had picked up one of the knives used for cutting up his vegetables and made to stab her with it. He didn't get very far. By the time he'd lifted the knife, the sensors embedded in his arm had kicked in and had served him the equivalent of a Cruciatus curse threefold.

The pain had forced him to the floor. He trashed about wildly, foaming at the mouth and blood running little rivulets from his nose. Lillian screamed. Six of the prisoners had gawped, Hermione noted with a sick turn to her stomach, with unsuppressed glee and Lucius, the seventh, had carried on eating with an indifference that was chilling and much more sickening to behold.

With a wave of her wand and a whispered 'Finite', Hermione took Yaxley out of his misery. By then, Terry Boot and Michael Corner, who'd heard Lillian's scream, had Apparated inside, glaring around the table as though one of the others had been the cause of the mischief. Checking first to make sure that Yaxley was still alive, she then turned and gave the rest of them a steely look.

"I hope you lot have taken a good look this evening," she said coldly. "Mr. Yaxley has served as a perfect example to the consequences of disobedience." Then she quoted, "'if you do not obey the Lord your God and do not carefully follow all his commands and decrees I am giving you today, all these curses will come on you and overtake you: You will be cursed.'"

Their delight was washed away and replaced by stubborn, hateful looks but Bellatrix refused to remain silent.

Standing, her eyes glittering malevolently, she shouted, "Who cares about your stupid lord, scum! Your curses are useless against us! They are nothing compared to what we've got in store for the likes of you!" Bellatrix lifted her hand and pointed her index finger at Hermione. "Crucio!"

Eyes wide, Hermione scrambled backwards, nearly tripping over the prone form of Yaxley. She was presently living her nightmare and, had common sense not flown away, she would have realised that Bellatrix hadn't a wand and couldn't hurt her.

"Crucio!" Bellatrix screamed again even as Terry Boot incapacitated her yet again.

Hermione's skin grew unbearably hot and she felt as though no matter how much she inhaled, she just couldn't get enough oxygen. Darkness crept at the edges of her sight and she was aware that she may faint. Thickly, as though from far away, she heard Lillian screaming, "Sister, are you okay? Sister, what's wrong?" She wanted to scream back, "I'm fine!" but her voice had deserted her as well, so she turned to smile and indicate to Lillian that she was okay.

Grey eyes met hers. Indifferent, soulless, contemptuous and _hateful. _Lucius Malfoy. Lucius…Lucifer…

_Crucio! Crucio! Cruc—_

She turned and fled the room.

* * *

AN: Darn you MS Word for automatically changing all my 'ises' into 'izes'! I'm Canadian, dammit. Shame on you for underlining 'colour' and 'behaviour' and 'meagre' in red!

Feedback is definitely appreciated and constructive criticism will find a welcome mat placed on my doorstep. Thanks to all who've reviewed the previous chapter, your responses were lovely as ever.


	4. My Anger Will Be Aroused

**AN:** Pleased pink I am to proclaim: I have attained a beta-reader and a brit-picker! All reading souls bow to the betaing power of one wonderful _fury-shashka__, _and to the lovely _Lady Arianne Of Ambers Valley_ for brit-picking this chapter. Seriously. Bow now!

Jokes! But, any errors found are solely my fault for adding little bits here and there after the final run-through.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

_Chapter Four: My Anger Will Be Aroused_

The following morning, Hermione arose at four—earlier than normal. Usually, she would wake at six and go about her day feeling chipper and refreshed, but this morning was quite the opposite. She'd hardly gotten any sleep due to her anxiety and persistent nightmares. She'd tossed and turned, waking many times with choked screams almost escaping her mouth, clutching helplessly at air for a saviour that never came.

She was so tired—tired physically and mentally—and bone-weary of her ongoing nightmares. Why did the memories of her torture—and torturers—taunt her like this? Why wasn't she given respite even after six years? Why didn't God rescue her from her tribulations and banish those awful dreams from her sleep? Hadn't she done plenty enough for Him to notice her efforts and grant her a reward? Why couldn't she just _forget_?

She lowered herself to her knees and planted her elbows on top of her mattress. She leant her upper-half slightly forwards and clasped her hands tightly over her rosary beads. She closed her eyes. It was a posture that was familiar to her body because she prayed often during her days. With whispering lips, she poured her heart out, neglecting her usual prayers for the salvation of others to instead beg and cry for reprieve for her own soul.

When she was finished, she went and took a bath in her adjoining lavatory. Once bathed, she dressed in the gloom as the sun had not risen as yet and she felt a sense of security in the quiet dimness. The day prior, she'd worn her virginal-white Abbess' nun habit with the accompanying white-headdress to appear formal and authoritative. At the time, she'd hoped that her outward appearance and serious countenance would instil a measure of respect in the others but it had been for naught. So today, she wore her regular black, calf-length nun habit and its equally washed-out black headdress of her Novitiate days.

With a pop, she Apparated to her kitchen and prepared herself a strong batch of coffee. As she made her way to her study, she sorted through the mail the owls had brought during the night, and took only the pieces of mail that requested her services. Once in her study, she perused the letters and smiled. She felt a little better when she read a missive from her former Herbology professor, Pomona Sprout.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, even though you are currently sharing your home with the evillest of men. No, do not frown. This is not a letter of chastisement. Indeed, I found myself surprised at your sudden decision but I have no doubts in your abilities, my dear. You are doing what so many others are afraid to do—even myself—and I commend you. Nevertheless, I have a request. I was made aware that one of your 'rehabilitation methods' would be to utilise the prisoners for community services. You would issue them tasks to aid the Wizarding community in some way or the other, am I right? If so, I would like to apply for their services. I have enclosed another letter detailing the particulars. Do let me know whether it is possible, dear._

_Yours truly,_

_Pomona Sprout_

Hermione retrieved the second piece of parchment and read it entirely. There, in Pomona Sprout's untidy scrawl, Hermione read about Madame Pomfrey's idea of a stronger version of the Pepperup Potion—one that would be able to cure early onset of pneumonia and bronchitis. A list of necessary ingredients was provided. As autumn was coming to a fast close, and winter was on their doorsteps, the flu-season would be in full swing, and the advanced version of the Pepperup Potion would be needed.

Instantly interested, Hermione did not hesitate to send a note of compliance to her former professor. And, by the time she'd finished up her second cup of coffee, she was humming and feeling very much like herself again. All prior worries were completely forgotten.

* * *

Lucius confessed himself bored. Terribly so.

There was nothing to do, nothing to occupy his attention, nothing to banish the persistent tedium that was filling his morning. His meagre belongings had yet to arrive, and he was closeted within his bare room, with not even one paltry book to assuage his slowly fraying nerves. He'd anticipated some further entertainment this morning during breakfast, where another one of his comrades-in-imprisonment might have made a fool of themselves, but had been disappointed when his breakfast was delivered magically to his room.

He missed Azkaban. At least there usually was some variation of entertainment. Whether it was a fist-fight between the Lestrange brothers, or a rowdy, amusing altercation between Bellatrix and a prison guard whenever the physical examinations were due.

If this day was to be an example of his remaining days on this earth—well, then he was going to consider taking his own life while the getting was good. If it was one thing Lucius Malfoy abhorred far beyond Mudbloods, it was boredom. Nothing aggravated him more than inactivity. That wasn't to say he was always lively. He appreciated stillness when it was necessary. All he needed was a good book and something alcoholic.

But there was none of that to be found in this horrid, drab place. Even though the building had once been a drinking establishment, he doubted if the good, old _Sister _had even a pint of firewhiskey remaining to loosen her perpetual rigidity.

He scoffed. A nun. Merlin, the heights of ludicrousness those Mudblood abominations could achieve! Didn't she realise that bad blood could not be made clean no matter the amount of external transformations? And what did she really hope to accomplish with this harebrained scheme of hers? Redemption? Penitence? Forgiveness? He rather thought not. There was and never would be any remorse for those who he'd murdered and tortured. They had deserved it. The only guilt he felt was from getting his son involved in the business.

Draco had been far too young. He had needed more time to appreciate the work his father had been doing. The boy had also been easily brainwashed with inane ideologies about 'equal rights'. To think his son had swallowed such hogwash—it disturbed Lucius immensely. Nevertheless, his son was his son. Despite it all, he loved the boy and was saddened by their estrangement. Hopefully, if all went well, he would have a nice, long chat with Draco and have him see the way of things.

However, in the meantime, he'd have to suffer the company of the Mudblood. For a professed 'bright witch', she certainly wasn't very intelligent. Had she not been a witness of and an active participant in the War? Wasn't she aware of the kind of men—and woman—she was dealing with? They were not people to be trifled with. What gave her the notion that she could _change _them for the better? The gall of that silly, inexperienced vermin! How he longed to just rid her from this earth.

Mere seconds later, the door to his room opened and admitted the very same vermin he'd been contemplating on. She was escorted by an Auror—Corner, he presumed—and she was carrying a satchel in her arms. She had abandoned her formal Abbess garb to replace it with a plain, washed-out habit, and her hair was devoid of the headdress.

"Here you are, Mr. Malfoy," she said stiffly, walking towards where he sat. She extended her arm and presented the satchel to him. "Your things."

He pinned her with his gaze for he had learnt very early on that she squirmed when he did so. If he could not physically harm her as he wished to, then terrifying her into gibbering fear with a baleful, insistent stare would have to do.

She jiggled the satchel before him, her gaze meeting his stolidly. "Take it now or you'll find your paint bottles broken and all your precious art pieces ruined when I drop it on the floor."

A smirk fought to usurp his face. The little chit had cheek, did she? He dearly wanted to test her, but judging from her steely features and tense posture, he didn't disbelieve she'd do as threatened. So he raised his hands, and she promptly shoved the satchel into them.

"Good," she said coldly, then stepped two steps back and away from him.

"Tsk, tsk, _Sister_," he said quietly. "I'm sure dirty threats are frowned upon amongst your religious cohorts."

She ignored his statement. "In your bag, amongst your things, you'll notice a pair of dragon-hide gloves. They are to be worn during your community task today. Do not forget them. If you do, you will still work without the gloves for there will be no replacements."

And without waiting for his response, she turned away from him and exited the room.

Lucius Malfoy smiled at his closed door. He despised impertinence, and even more so in ugly little Mudbloods like Hermione Granger. But he couldn't deny that her razor-sharp tongue was amusing. Maybe the Church of Saint Mary might not be such a dreadfully tedious place after all.

* * *

Hermione sat at the back of the hired Day Bus with Lillian, trying her best to follow along with the girl's constant chattering. However, her mind was miles elsewhere. Off to a place where steady, unblinking, disturbing grey gazes persisted. An involuntary shudder of unease raced down her spine. Facing Lucius Malfoy should only be done when her fortitude was at two hundred percent, but alas, even when she'd thought she had been strong enough, she had failed miserably.

She hadn't needed to deliver his personal belongings herself. Michael had offered his assistance, but she had declined. In her mind, she was desperate to face and overcome her inane but innate fear of Malfoy Senior. The memory of her astounding behaviour the night prior had plagued her, and she had wanted to prove to herself—and him, too—that she didn't _quake _in her sensible boots when in his presence, that she didn't want to flee for the hills at his merest indifferent gaze.

But she'd quaked and she'd fled. She had stepped away from him the moment he had taken his bag, and she had all but run from the room the very instant she had said her final word. During their short meeting, her heart had been setting records for itself as it beat faster than it should. And he'd known, the bastard. She'd seen the ghost of a smirk on his paradoxically handsome face. He'd read her like a bloody open book.

_Paradoxically handsome, indeed. How could someone so vile and hideous within have far more pleasing features externally? Where did justice end and irony begin?_

But it was poor of her as a nun to judge him. In her profession, she was to believe in the goodness and the salvation of the hearts of mankind. She was to guide them along such a path, and was not to criticise them for their past mistakes. Had Lucius Malfoy done or said anything dreadful since his occupying of her church? No, he had not. And therefore just because the very sight of him disturbed her gave her no right to judge one of God's children.

_God's child, my arse. More like the devil's wicked seed…_

She gripped her rosary beads with pale knuckles, speedy Hail Marys escaping her whispering lips. Lillian's dirty mouth was really rubbing off on her…

Finally, much to her peace-of-mind, they arrived at the field Professor Sprout had suggested in her missive. It was a large section of magical land situated within Brecon Beacons—a scenic mountain range situated in South Wales—sprawling along for acres with only a few wild horses grazing peacefully in the distance. To the Muggle eye, it was a wide area of green-yellow grass and winding footpaths, but to Wizarding folk, it was the biggest plot of magical fenugreek seeds.

With Michael's and Terry's careful guidance and restrictive Auror magic, the prisoners were all led off of the bus. Hermione and Lillian followed suit.

At Professor Sprout's additional request, Hermione transfigured a log into seven wooden barrels—as Yaxley was left behind, still unconscious from his curse—and assigned each prisoner a barrel to hold. Standing stiffly, she gave each scowling face an indifferent look, and ignored Bellatrix's vocal note of displeasure.

"Now, I've assumed everyone remembered their gloves?" she began. "If so, put them on."

As expected, no-one moved. She inhaled and then exhaled heavily.

"Must you disobey me every step of the way?" she demanded, frowning. "Put your gloves on this instant!"

"Make us!" snarled Bellatrix. "Make us, vermin! We won't listen to you. We will never obey orders from your filthy mouth!"

Rabastan, Antonin and Rodolphus smirked, Alecto and Amycus grinned, and Lucius gazed off into the distance with blatant disinterest.

Frustration welled in Hermione. How could grown adults be so stubborn and unresponsive? She believed it might have been easier to convince a group of six-year-olds to stay still and knit stockings. How was she to command respect from this lot? What snapped these hard-headed, foul-mouthed beings into action? What would they obey?

Cruelty.

_Pain._

She cringed from the idea of inflicting pain to garner obedience. That was not her style of leadership. That was reminiscent of their former leader's control methods. But what else was she to use? She was incapable of sugary cajolement as it grated against her will to do so, and they disregarded her attempts at sharp and uncompromising orders. In fact, they mocked her.

Besides, didn't the One she followed—the One she devoted her time and energy to—utilise that same approach? She could think of more than one example where He meted out painful punishment due to insubordination. The story of Jonah and the Whale—a notable case of the consequences of defiance. And what about the constant threat of eternal damnation if one did not acknowledge His laws? Weren't those fine examples of administering cruelty for compliance?

The idea tempted her. A tiny, dark seed embedded in her heart slowly began to blossom. Oh, how she would enjoy delivering onto them their due. She couldn't deny the momentary sliver of sinister glee she'd felt at Yaxley's demise the day prior. There was no doubt in her mind that she could maintain an excruciatingly painful Cruciatus Curse on the likes of Bellatrix if she decided to cast it on the odious witch…

Still, she was disinclined in walking along that path. Despite the growing bud of hatred for her charges in her heart, her keen spirit of fair-play and compassion disallowed her from taking advantage of her authority and abusing them. Especially in front of the impressionable Lillian who, at present, was watching the unfolding scene with avid interest.

Straightening her back, Hermione marched forwards and stood before Bellatrix. She decided that, regardless of her ingrained fear of the woman, she would command respect from Bellatrix even while her own legs trembled and her heart skipped beats.

"You _will _obey me, Bellatrix," Hermione said coldly. "You _will _listen to my orders. I am in charge here, not you. Put on your gloves, _now._"

"Put them on yourself, bitch," was Bellatrix's snarling response before she projected spit into Hermione's face.

Hermione's response was instant. No miracle nor pleading request could have stayed her rising hand as she gave Bellatrix a hard, stinging slap across her face. The force of the attack sent Bellatrix stumbling sideways, and the sound managed to echo across the expanse of the field. Bellatrix screeched from the shock, and then began screeching even louder when the embedded sensor served her the imitation Cruciatus Curse when she tried to retaliate against Hermione.

Minor pandemonium ensued. The Carrow siblings attempted an escape which Hermione prevented, Rabastan got into a scuffle with Terry, Rodolphus and Antonin pitted themselves against Michael, Lillian tried restraining Bellatrix's writhing body to no avail, and Lucius…Lucius observed. Hermione watched as he did nothing and said nothing. He simply stood and surveyed the proceedings with slightly amused interest. He made no attempts to flee; he did not involve himself in any of the fights. Like the devil himself, he stood to the side and enjoyed the view as though he'd been the one to orchestrate the events.

_Lucius Malfoy._

_Lucius Malfoy._

_Lucius…_

_The devil…_

His gaze lifted and met hers, and an unnameable chill slivered down her spine. She shivered; he smirked.

_Lucifer…_

She turned her head away.

* * *

Lucius was the first to finish his quota of fenugreek seed-picking. After a cursory inspection of his barrel by Miss Granger, she'd ordered him to wait on the bus while the others finished their allotment. He'd not cared much for her stiff, brusque tone of voice, but he preferred ignoring it in favour of sitting on the bus. It had taken over an hour to fill the barrel of the glowing, amber-coloured seeds, and during that time, he'd been bent at the waist. At forty-eight years old, Lucius did not consider himself _old_ as yet, but his lower back had begun to disagree.

He entered the vehicle and settled himself gratefully onto a nearby seat. The bus-driver was dozing away, and for a moment, Lucius contemplated hijacking the vehicle and carrying himself off elsewhere. However, he could not drive, and he wasn't willing to learn today. Furthermore, even if he managed to learn the mechanics of it all, he'd be caught and carted off to Azkaban with a beheading due the day after.

No, he'd sit and wait and think. He'd think about his present circumstance and relive the enjoyable moment when Sister Hermione Granger had delivered one fine slap to a deserving Bellatrix Lestrange. Merlin knew he'd longed to do it. Bellatrix annoyed him immensely; her incessant screaming and cackling usually engendered an urge to strangle her silent. But the Mudblood had succeeded where he had failed. With an open palm, and a strength that belied her petite stature, she'd given Bellatrix her comeuppance.

In the back of his mind, a voice cried in outrage that the Mudblood's actions needed to be met with severe punishment. How dare she lay her filthy palm on the flesh of a Pureblood in such a manner? However, he immediately reminded himself that it was Bellatrix, his crazed ex-sister-in-law who he'd shared a mutual dislike for, and that he needn't feel righteous indignation for the woman.

His conscience cleared, he leaned his head backwards against the seat's headrest and, once more, conjured the memory of the burning hatred in the Sister's eyes as she'd slapped Bellatrix into a stupor. His mind revisited the moment when their gazes had connected, and the mixture of fear and challenge he'd glimpsed in her eyes before she'd turned indifferently away.

Beneath her drab, stern and spinster-like exterior, it was apparent that Sister Hermione Granger was still a little spitfire. Well, he couldn't wait for the day when he'd douse that fiery spirit and put her in her place.

* * *

AN: Sister Hermione demands you repent of your sins if you do not review. ;)


	5. The Righteous With The Wicked

**AN**: Much thanks to my beta fury-shashka. Her awesomeness is…well…awesome!

Trivia: All my chapter names are parts of sentences lifted from different scriptures in the bible.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story of J.K. Rowling.

_Chapter Five: The Righteous With The Wicked_

"Brother."

Lucius turned his head and found Rodolphus staring at him intently, his usually blank eyes suddenly alight with life. At present, they were in the communal showers, completely naked as they washed away the grime of the day from their bodies. Today—exactly four weeks since they'd first arrived to the Church of Saint Mary—had been a hard day of construction work and carpentry for poverty-stricken Muggle families. Lucius couldn't scrub his skin hard enough to erase the diseased feeling of being near such repulsive creatures.

That Granger woman really was audacious. To force him into hard labour for a species that were beneath him showed how impudent the little bitch was. Nevertheless her iron will was commendable. Despite the various forms of insubordination she received on a daily basis, she dealt with each moment with a stoicism that was equal parts taught and inherent. No matter the occasion, the rebuffs, or the spitting insults made towards her, her orders were to be obeyed.

A true leader in the making.

But he only conceded that fact begrudgingly. He still despised Sister Hermione Granger and the very essence of what she was. Regardless of her admirable attributes, few as they were—namely, her leadership skills—he still thought she was a worthless waste of space and needed to be rid of immediately. She and her kind served no purpose in this world but to contaminate it with their dirty blood, and to infuriate him with their ongoing existence.

"Brother."

"What is it, Rodolphus?" he replied coldly.

"We've a plan."

"A plan? Concerning what?"

A moment of silence ensued where the only sound that could be heard was the steady gushing of water from the pipes. Then Rodolphus finally continued, his voice many degrees quieter:

"To resurrect our lord."

This gave Lucius pause. A rapid succession of emotions overcame him: shock, wonder, fear, indifference, regret, hate, hate, hate…

No.

Never. Never again.

Twenty plus years of his life had been dedicated to that…that _abomination_. He'd risked his life and the lives of his wife and son for a creature that had had no understanding of responsibility. His wife had left him, his son had disowned him, and he was currently serving a prison sentence for crimes he'd committed under the orders of _him_. No. Never again was he going to allow himself to be fooled into servitude.

His days of complete and unabashed loyalty were over.

He'd been given a second chance, and he was going to use it wisely. The world that the Dark Lord had longed for—that they'd all had longed for—was impossible now. The Muggles and their abhorrent culture had heavily infiltrated the Wizarding world, and there was no going back. He was not going to risk his life and his comfort all over again to try to reinstate his traditional beliefs. Murdering and torturing—regardless of those who deserved it—were behind him. When his stint at the Church of Saint Mary was over, he'd be off to unknown parts to live peacefully and, hopefully, Muggle-free.

He could care less for resurrecting dead dark lords. Let the beast rot wherever he laid!

Carefully, he adapted a mask of pleased curiosity as he turned to Rodolphus.

"Is that so?" he enquired. "However do you propose to accomplish this feat whilst incarcerated?"

Rodolphus eyes seemed to get even brighter. "We will use the girl."

Lucius was surprised by this admission. "The girl? Have you forgotten that she played a significant role in our lord's demise?"

"No," replied Rodolphus with a smug smile playing about his lips, "the _other_ girl."

"Ah, the bothersome chatterbox," deduced Lucius.

Rodolphus nodded.

"But how shall she be of use to you—to us?" pressed Lucius, genuinely interested now as an idea began to form in his head.

Rodolphus did not immediately respond. Instead, his black eyes glittered as he stared hard at Lucius. "Brother, can you be trusted?"

Lucius breathed hard, working his face into a hard exterior of anger as he pretended to be affronted by Rodolphus' query. Then, in as deadly a voice as he could pitch his, he said:

"Lestrange, are you honestly questioning my loyalty? I, who have been the longest and most diligent supporter of our cause? The one who the Dark Lord himself named as his second-in-command? Are you, Lestrange?"

He knew he had achieved his goal by his first statement, but he'd wanted to rub it in to ensure that he'd be privy to Rodolphus' schemes. A plan of his own had formulated, and it would be useless without the information that Rodolphus and company were hiding.

"Of course, of course," responded Rodolphus with a nod. "My apologies, Brother. I merely wanted to confirm your place in this very important mission."

Lucius nodded.

"As I've mentioned before, we—myself, Bella, Rabastan and Antonin—have decided to use the servant girl for our means. It seems that she is taken with Rabastan, and that he is willing to falsely return her affections so she can do as he bids her. She will—"

Rodolphus' explanations was cut short at the entrance of the evening shift Aurors: Hugh Davies and Trevor Lodge. They'd replaced Michael and Terry in the evenings due to the long and tiring shift. The new duo, Lucius noticed, were not as stringent and careful as Corner and Boot. Whereas the former two were constant watchdogs in the event of mischief-making, the new Aurors tended towards slack supervision.

"Come on, come on!" hollered Hugh. "Shower time's over."

Suddenly realising that he and Rabastan had been discoursing whilst very naked, he turned off the pipes and reached for a towel to cover himself. He was a little irritated by the Aurors' bad timing, but he consoled himself in the knowledge that he'd just acquired a fantastic bargaining chip. Whatever else Rodolphus had to say, he'd learn soon enough. And when he did, so would Sister Hermione Granger—as long as she agreed to his requests first.

* * *

With a sharp, ear-splitting crack, the Knight Bus appeared alongside the gate of the church. Feeling very queasy after the lurching, speeding drive, Hermione made a hasty retreat from the vehicle, and wobbled her way to the gate. Standing still, she waited for her heart to slow, for the nausea to ebb, and for her rubbery legs to regain their strength. Good Lord, she was never taking the Knight Bus home again. Never.

Why she'd even thought to use that form of transportation was beyond her.

But remembrance returned.

Oh. Right.

She'd just returned from a trip to the Weasleys, hoping to rebalance herself with familiar faces and a loving atmosphere. Being cloistered in the church amongst such venomous and hateful souls had taken its toll on her mentally and physically. She'd wanted a reprieve. Constant prayer had seemed futile against her trials, and she'd even found that the wickedness of the hearts of the men and women she gave refuge to had begun to rub off on her.

Thus, she'd felt that a visit to a place where love and respect prevailed was in order.

How she'd been wrong.

Excited, and feeling like a burden was about to be lifted off of her shoulders, she'd Floo-ed to the Weasleys. Expecting shouts of pleasurable surprise at her sudden presence, bone-crushing familial hugs from Molly, and possibly a bit of a comfortable chat with Ginny, she'd stepped from their fireplace and into their living room with the biggest smile on her face in ages.

Oh, how she'd been so, _so_ wrong!

Instead, as she'd turned to head towards the kitchen, she'd been confronted by the sight of a very pregnant Lavender lounging in the sofa. It should have been her first sign of things terribly amiss, but she'd ignored it in favour of the greater questions: why was Lavender here, and why was she pregnant?

"La-Lavender," she'd greeted with a stiff smile. It was public knowledge that Hermione and Lavender were not the best of friends due to Ron's infidelity with the blonde witch mere weeks before Hermione had taken off for university. But as a Christian soul, Hermione had learnt to forgive and forget. Somewhat. "How nice to see you."

"Hello, Hermione," was Lavender's cool response. "How've you been?"

"Fine, fine," Hermione had responded. "And you?"

"The same," said Lavender, and then there was nothing else to say. The silence that had stretched between them was as wide and as heavy as Lavender's belly. Hermione's eyes had then proceeded to defy her. Try as she might not to ogle Lavender's rotund stomach, she just couldn't help it. And the question had chased its tail in her mind—_who's the father? Is it Ron's? Who's the father? Is it Ron's? Who's the father? Is it—_

"Lav!" Mrs. Weasley had rounded the wall to enter the living room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. At the sight of Hermione, her face had lit with shock, and Hermione had thought that things were looking up.

Then the oddest thing happened. Instead of rushing forth, arms spread wide for an accommodating hug as Hermione had envisioned, Mrs. Weasley's face had become shuttered, and her arms had fallen to her sides.

"Oh, hello there, Sister Hermione," Mrs. Weasley had greeted in semi-cool tones. "How nice of you to visit."

_Sister Hermione?_

"Molly, did you need me for something?" Lavender spoke before Hermione could say anything.

_Molly? _

"Of course not, Lavvy, dear," Mrs. Weasley had answered, smiling dotingly at Lavender. "I just wanted to make sure that you've been resting your swollen feet."

They'd then proceeded into a conversation about the pains of pregnancy. There had been no sugarcoating the obvious: she was being ignored. The blatant rudeness had astounded Hermione. She hadn't known where to begin to be surprised. Whether it should be from the stiff use of her official title by Mrs. Weasley, Lavender's comfortable use of Mrs. Weasley's first name—an honour that had been forbidden for Hermione—or the fact that Mrs. Weasley referred to Lavender as 'Lavvy.'

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley had had the decency to enquire whether she'd wanted a bite to eat, and Hermione had agreed to the offer. Their following conversation had been exceedingly forced and detached, and Hermione had just been on the verge of questioning Mrs. Weasley's awful behaviour when Mr. Weasley and Ron had arrived home together.

If Hermione had never encountered true awkwardness before, then she'd done so in that moment.

Her discomfiture had tripled. Hardly anyone had spoken, and if anyone did, it had been Mr. Weasley asking her how she was for the umpteenth time. The ordeal had gotten so overbearing, that she'd burst out angrily:

"What is wrong with all of you?"

"You! That's what's wrong!" Ron had retaliated instantaneously.

"What do you mean 'me?'" she'd demanded. "What have I done?"

"What have you done?" Mrs. Weasley had cried suddenly. "What have you done? You're harbouring criminals in your house! Criminals!"

"I am not _harbouring criminals_, Mrs. Weasley," she'd tried to explain. "I am contributing to their rehabilitation so that they can reintegrate into society—"

"They deserve to be dead, the lot of them!" Ron had proclaimed with such venom it had surprised her. "Dead. Just like their stupid master."

She'd risen from her seat, shaking with indignation and hurt. "And that's why you've all seen it fit to treat me so poorly?"

"Hermione, you can't expect us to be welcoming when you're helping those bad men—" Mrs. Weasley had begun, but Hermione had suddenly turned to Lavender.

"Lavender, is that Ron's baby?"

Lavender's victorious smile was unmistakable. "Of course it is."

"So what happened to Luna? I bet he cheated on her with you, didn't he?"

Lavender's pout was answer enough.

Hermione had turned back to find Mrs. Weasley's face mulish and pinched. Then, pointing at Ron, she'd made her parting words: "You know what, Mrs. Weasley? I'm not the only one harbouring bad men in my house. Here's a prime example of the worst kind of man one can ever meet: a man who can't keep his penis in his pants long enough without sticking it between the first pair of legs that opens up to him."

And with a dizzying about-face, she'd ran from the house. She truly didn't even know how she'd ended up on the Knight Bus in the first place.

Feeling better, she opened the gate and slowly made her way up the walkway to the church's entrance. It was a particularly cold night as it tended to be in mid-January, and the chilly breeze robbed her of what little warmth she had. As she exhaled, plumes of thin mist hung at her lips for mere seconds before drifting away. How she longed for a nice warm cup of cocoa, and to forget about what had transpired today.

_The sanctimonious hypocrites they were! _

She thought this angrily. How dare they judge her for her work? How dare they accuse her of doing wrong when she was obviously doing right? What was wrong in trying to save lives from needless deaths? Hadn't the world suffered enough unwarranted losses?

And to treat her as though she were the enemy, as though she were no better than the souls she were trying to save! Their horrid behaviour had been equal parts hurtful and surprising. She felt as though she'd been betrayed. And, for some absurd reason, the worst of the feelings of betrayal had come from the sight of pregnant Lavender.

Inanely, outrageously, she'd felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of jealousy.

Flinging the church door open, she announced to the lined pews:

"I've no need to be jealous of that fat and ugly trollop!"

Then she noticed that someone was sitting at the front row of pews, and she immediately regretted speaking aloud. These past few weeks, she'd been cursing more and more, and it seemed as though her regular recitals of Hail Marys were not enough. Blaming Lillian's influence had grown old. Plain and simple: she'd developed a potty mouth. Now how was she to save face after her blatant name-calling? That wasn't a very nun-like thing to do…

The person stood, and her eyes automatically honed in on the long, blond hair, held meticulously into a ponytail.

Malfoy.

What was _he_ doing here?

Quickly, she glimpsed at her wristwatch. It was thirty minutes before his curfew.

He turned into the aisle and began walking towards her, his long legs making quick work of the job. He was tall—taller than her—and his current robes advertised how broad and strong his shoulders were. His walk was purposeful and confident; his face impassive. She wondered what he wanted. Did he intend to harm her? Well, it didn't matter. The sensor in his arm was protection enough.

_Still, you never know…_

She withdrew her wand.

"I've no ill intentions towards you, Miss Granger," he said quietly as he finally stood before her. "You needn't draw your wand."

"What do you want?" She was going to get this over and done with. Being in Lucius Malfoy's presence had a harrowing effect on her, and after the ordeal she'd previously been through at the Weasleys, she hadn't the strength to deal with him tonight.

He did not answer right away, only surveyed her in the quietude that followed. It was maddening. The way those eyes of his seemed to have the ability to stare straight into her was the reason why she hated being in his company. Despite the fact that he was the prisoner and she was the one in charge, he constantly exuded this aura of self-assurance whereas she usually fought to suppress her anxiety.

"What do you want, Mr. Malfoy?" she repeated, fists clenched into tight balls. "If you've nothing to say, then it is best you return to your room and stop wasting my time."

He smirked. "Patience is a virtue, Miss Granger. Surely you know this?"

"Sadly, patience has never been my strong suit," she answered. "So speak now or forever hold your peace."

"Ah, we've moved on to marriage ceremonies."

"Yes, of course, a marriage of my wand to your person if you don't state your business immediately."

He gave her an assessing look before responding, "You seem awfully tetchy, Miss Granger. I might have enquired after your welfare, but I mustn't digress. I have some information that would be useful to you."

"Is that so?" replied Hermione, affecting boredom. "And I'm sure the release of this information comes with a price?"

It was the first genuine smile she'd seen on his face. It transformed his features, and Hermione suddenly realised that Lucius Malfoy was an attractive man. The discovery was highly disconcerting. It only served to reinforce her secret belief that Lucius Malfoy was Lucifer on earth. She was forcibly reminded that before the acclaimed 'Morning Star' had fallen, he'd been the most beautiful entity that had existed.

The handsome Light Giver that had been banished from heaven because of his pride and wicked heart.

She took a step back.

"Such a smart little witch you are," he said, eyes trained on her. "And to think I've questioned your intelligence so frequently."

She squinted at him. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm in no mood to play games. Either you say what you've got to say now, or I swear I'll hex you. I'm in a hexing kind of mood."

"First, I'll state my price: my curfew is to be annulled, and I'm to have free reign of the entire compound. I am also to be allowed outside of the compound whenever I choose."

"Absolutely not," was her immediate response. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"Hardly, but it is a shame that you would not know the goings-on beneath your roof before it is too late. Good evening, Miss Granger."

He turned and began making his way towards the stairway that lead to the second floor when Hermione demanded he halt. She did not like the ominous way he'd spoken, and she felt that it would at least be wise to hear exactly what he had to say before rejecting his requests outright.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am willing to consider your wishes but I cannot do so unless you clearly disclose this important information that you boast of."

He returned to where he'd been standing, and Hermione wished he hadn't. She did not like the way he towered over her, as though it would be dreadfully simple to overpower her if he felt so inclined. Once again, he was quietly scrutinising her before his next words shocked her to the core.

"They are plotting to resurrect the Dark Lord."

And before she could recover from her horrified gawp, he added,

"And I am willing to…well, in simple terms, 'be a spy.'"

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter. Hope you enjoyed this update.

_It is a pity that there are so many who consider this story either: a) blasphemous or b) not worth reading because it has religion in it. -:shakes head:- Hopefully, if there's an award out there for most controversial HP fanfiction, this story can be a contender! :D_


	6. I Will Fear No Evil

**AN:** Fury, one of these days, you'll see a huge basket of sweets unimaginable, carried in the arms of a Lucius-look-a-like, who has a penchant for licking sweets off of skin, awaiting you on your doorstep, and you won't even have to question who sent you that gift. Really, you wouldn't. :D

Any errors discovered are mine, and mine alone.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling Litmus Test: Are you blonde? Nope. Did you dedicate seventeen years of your life (possibly more) to writing seven books of a fantasy-nature? Not that I remember. Are you so rich that you'd call one million euros 'pocket change'? Err…no.

_Chapter Six: I Will Fear No Evil_

"'…who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son. In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins.'"

She paused meaningfully, letting the words sink in as she swept her gaze across the fifteen faces that made up her congregation. Eight faces, actually, because on the first and second left pews—four in front, three behind—sat the regulars that attended services, and on the right front, second and third pews—one in front, two in second, and five in third—sat her charges.

The seven regulars appeared enthralled by her teachings, whereas, of her charges, only one was paying any kind of attention to her sermonising.

Lucius Malfoy.

She frowned at him, nettled for no good reason at his persistent staring. He had his arms folded across his chest and one of his legs overtop of the other. Despite his casual posture, he still seemed as regal and as haughty as ever, looking down his nose at her like a king seated on his throne forced to suffer the presence of a lowly servant.

And it was absurd, because she was the one standing on the podium.

Irrationally, she wanted to slap him. Slap that disgusting look right off of his face.

_They are plotting to resurrect the Dark Lord. _

_I am willing to be a spy._

They had had that conversation a week ago, and her horrified surprise at his words had tapered off into scepticism. Resurrecting Voldemort? Impossible. Well, not impossible—she'd learnt early that in the Wizarding world, anything was possible—but unlikely. There were no available avenues for them to practice Dark Magic in her church. Additionally, the sensors in their arms prohibited any harmful actions directed towards her.

Not to mention that the Aurors were usually within earshot to dissuade any secret evil plotting amongst them.

So, the only conclusion was that Lucius Malfoy had fabricated that warning just to acquire special treatment.

_Well, he's certainly not going to get it!_

"Thus, in summation, I'd like you to have a moment of reflection. I'd like you to go home and look deep within yourselves. Have you found any blackness tainting your soul? Is there any sin in your heart? Go to the Lord and confess, for only He can redeem you. Only He can forgive your sins and set you free from the devil's chains. Now let us stand and pray."

* * *

Lucius wanted to throw his head back and laugh.

Sister Hermione Granger's holy preaching sessions usually engendered such an urge.

Her piousness was so outstanding, he could only sit and stare in amazement. Granted, he found her messages and instructions farcical and redundant—however, he couldn't help but be riveted by her zeal when she sermonised. There was just something…the way she spoke so heatedly, her hands' wild movements as she gesticulated to add illustration to her words, the way her eyes glittered in part mania and part delight, and the way her body seemed to exude electricity…some compelling force.

A lightweight version of Bellatrix Lestrange, he supposed.

And when one considered the rapt attention she was receiving from her parishioners, Lucius thought, with dark humour, how Voldemort had missed out on a very influential member for 'The Cause.' With such a surprisingly convincing tongue, there was no telling the kind of support she would have amassed. She might have even overthrown Voldemort and assert herself as the leader in their mission to eliminate Mudbloods and Muggles.

Oh, the irony!

And here he'd been bemoaning the tedious turn his life had taken. It seemed that wherever Sister Hermione existed, there was entertainment to be found. His erstwhile brethren in crime were engaged in a ludicrous scheme to resurrect Voldemort, and he'd offered himself up as a 'spy.' Alas, she had yet to cede on his requests, but he had no doubts she'd—

"We shall escape tonight."

Surprised, Lucius inclined his head to the right and found Rodolphus standing beside him. His head bent, eyes closed, Rodolphus pretended to pray along with the rest of the paltry congregation.

"Are you with us, Brother?"

_Certainly not_, he'd have liked to say, but he held his tongue. Contrary to what Sister Hermione Granger liked to preach, the truth did not 'set you free' nor was honesty 'good for the soul.' One might think that facing the harsh consequences from living the life he'd lived would transform his philosophies, but from his experiences, Lucius had learnt that false sincerity kept you in better standing with others.

No, he was not above lying to further his own agenda. From since his youth, he'd been able to appreciate how well received a well-spun lie could be. He would never justify or defend dishonesty because it was a trait of which he was very proud. Being lied to, in its basest form, was being ignorant, and he liked knowing that someone _didn't_ know. Knowledge was power, and Lucius Malfoy, if anything, loved power.

Two-facedness was its own kind of art, and gullibility the canvas upon which he had to paint. Let dear Sister Hermione Granger believe that he could change for the better, and let poor Rodolphus Lestrange believe he was still willing to serve under a repugnant sovereign. Let them all believe they had his loyalty when the only loyalty he had was to himself.

He bent his head as well.

"I am."

* * *

There was something different about Lillian.

At first, Hermione couldn't quite pinpoint what the 'something different' was, but after musing on how quiet the church had been lately—regardless of Bellatrix's regular tantrums of the plate-throwing, table-overturning variety—Hermione realised that Lillian wasn't very talkative of late. Truth be told, she wasn't present much—her unfinished chores a testament to this fact.

She didn't worry too much concerning Lillian's absentness. Not to mention that between her community service work, her religious duties, and her seemingly failing task to rehabilitate the Death Eaters, she had barely enough time to find for Lillian. However, during a garbage collection service along the banks of Hogsmeade River, Lucius Malfoy's words gave her cause to feel uneasy.

"You should be more mindful of your maidservant."

Hermione had been sitting on a partially rotted tree trunk, admiring the pleasantly blue mid-afternoon sky. It had been her first quiet moment in ages, and the tired soles of her feet had welcomed the reprieve. The air was still chilly but the cloak around her shoulders ensured some of warmth. Nevertheless, at the sound of Lucius' voice to her right, the little warmth in her body had fled.

"And you should be more mindful of your duties," she replied in caustic tones, not bothering to look at him. "Get back to work."

"My, aren't we highhanded," he said, and she could hear the sneer in his voice. "It will do you well in the future to treat me with more respect, Sister."

She finally spared him a glance. He was standing with the metal poker embedded into the earth, his palms resting on the exposed end of the poker. Ever since Yaxley's attempt to stab her, she`d confiscated their wands, forcing them to perform their duties the Muggle way. She supposed it was for the best. They could vent their hate and rage through physical work whilst learning to appreciate Muggles (however marginally) and their methods.

"Perhaps so, Mr. Malfoy, but that is dependent on whether you have a future."

Slowly, his sneer transformed into a smile.

"I have absolute certainty of my surviving well into my old age, Miss Granger. However, if you continue to refuse to heed my warnings, I cannot say the same for you."

"Warnings or fabrications, Mr. Malfoy?" she replied in flippant tones. "You do realise that should I take your words seriously, I will be forced to consult the Minister. And if the Minister is involved, do believe that every single one of you will suffer an instantaneous beheading."

His gaze was direct. "It amazes me that you would care whether we perish beneath a guillotine or not. Why?"

_Yes, why do I care? They wouldn't hesitate to kill me in an instant and yet I fight to keep them alive._

Hermione looked away, fearful that he would read her thoughts and learn of her wavering heart.

Coldly, she replied, "Get back to work, Mr. Malfoy, or I'll ensure you have no dinner tonight."

* * *

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

There was a full moon out, its silvery light spilling through her window and lighting the nearby wall enough for her to read the time on the clock.

1:49.

Hermione had gone to bed at eleven, yet nearly three hours later, sleep still refused to whisk her away into blissful unconsciousness.

Instead, she was left to lie and think. And think and think and think.

About her past, her present, her future; focussing specifically on the bad bits. She thought about the Horcrux hunt with Harry, her failed relationship with Ron. About her trials of being a nun, the pressures of presenting a respectable image as a servant of God, and about being responsible for a unstable teenager as well as eight murderers. She wondered about following God's teachings for the remainder of her life, and whether she had the tenacity, the willpower to go on for much longer…

Her thoughts ran in a loop, and whenever they got to that last bit, she forced herself to cut that train of thought short. Inevitably, she returned to thinking those things all over again, interspersed with new and even more negative memories.

She closed her eyes and began to pray.

_The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…_

_There are no green pastures here. No calm to be found here._

…_he leadeth me beside the still waters; he restoreth my soul…_

_Then why does my soul feel as though it's still in pain?_

…_he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake…_

_But at what costs?_

…_yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me… _

_I still fear evil. It surrounds me entirely. Fills the hearts of these men._

_I…I don't feel comforted…_

Breathing hard, she sat up and swung her legs off of the bed to the floor. She did not like the after-effects of a Dreamless Sleep potion—she tended to feel groggy and irritable no matter how long she'd slept for—but obviously she needed it. Falling asleep naturally was no longer an option for her tonight—well, this morning.

So she got up, intending to get her cloak when she heard someone scream.

_Lillian?_

Reaching for her wand, Hermione ran out of her bedroom and through the kitchen. Lillian's quarters were originally a storage room beside the kitchen that had been converted, and it was on this storage room door that Hermione knocked with frantic raps.

"Lillian?" she called, still knocking. "Lillian? Lillian!"

Worry and fear traversed her bloodstream and filled her heart. The sound of the terrified scream replaying itself in her head, she grabbed the door's handle and yanked the door open.

Something hard and powerful accompanied by a bright green light struck her square in the chest, flinging her backwards against her kitchen cupboards. Her wand flew from her fingers to parts unknown, and her consciousness threatened to flee as well but she held on desperately to awareness.

Struggling to sit up, pain spanning along her entire spine and the back of her head, Hermione looked on in horrified amazement as Lucius Malfoy came towards her, pointing a wand threateningly at her chest.

_"Accio—"_ she began.

"That won't be wise, Miss Granger. Someone can get hurt."

As if to support his statement, Hermione heard Lillian scream again.

"What are you doing to her?" she croaked out, feeling weak and defenceless.

He knelt in front of her, bending his face close to hers:

"I tried to warn you, Miss Granger," he answered, his voice as mellifluous as if he were whispering sweet love poems into her ear, "but you would not listen."

* * *

**AN:** Wow! Has it really been seven months since this fic has been last updated? I'm so sorry, m'dears! In any case, I shall dedicate this chapter to **zouzoujana**. I read your review beseeching me to update, and I felt so ashamed, I'd begun typing this up right away. Alas, it only took me until Sunday to get it all finished up. Hope it's to your (as well as everybody's) tastes! :)

Thanks, everyone, for your very encouraging and supportive reviews. It means so much to me to see people reading and enjoying this fic, regardless of the heavy Christian themes surrounding the story. It pleases me that you are so open-minded enough to realise that this is entirely fiction, and that you can enjoy it for what it is. Again, thank you!


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